


When the Daylight Comes

by jeely



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Camping, College, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeely/pseuds/jeely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles comes stumbling out of the side door, eyes bright and round, and spots him leaning against the wall down the way.  Derek's never felt like anything other than a predator, but as Stiles approaches him, all sleek, lean lines and powerful shoulders, he's starting to understand being prey.  He's starting to understand being prey that <i>wants</i> to get caught.</p><p> </p><p>Or: five times Derek left before daylight and one time he stayed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Daylight Comes

**Author's Note:**

> This has been percolating in my brain for almost a year and it's finally done. Please let me know if you find any errors or inconsistencies in text.
> 
> Title and concept inspired by Maroon 5's [Daylight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N17FXwRWEZs). Also, the second to last scene in this is directly inspired by a gif of Hoechlin from last summer (I think?) tagged with something along the lines of "this is the moment Derek realizes he's crazy in love with Stiles."
> 
> Canon-compliant through the middle of 3A, with many much handwaving at the majority of 3B. Derek's still an alpha, Boyd lives, Danny's a werewolf, and the nogitsune may or may not have happened.

One.

The Alpha Pack is relentless, and not in the way Derek expects. Deucalion excels at mental manipulation and it's yet another thing that challenges Derek's skills, his understanding of how people work, how to be an Alpha. He's gotten better over the summer, training closely with Boyd and Isaac, all of them mourning the Erica-shaped hole in their hearts differently.

Boyd takes his place as Derek's right hand man, develops into an adult almost overnight. Derek supposes getting tortured and seeing someone you care for murdered is a quick way to grow up. He would know.

Isaac retreated in on himself those first few weeks, spent more time in Scott's presence than Derek was strictly comfortable with, but they've finally reached a comfortable truce.

Allison's departure from Beacon Hills is both a blessing and a curse - Scott has something else to focus on, but without the Argents around, Derek lives in constant terror waiting for the next group of deranged hunters to come through. Not everyone follows the Code.

The Alphas have challenged Derek at every turn. He's not used to this level of manipulation, these mind games. Physicality, Derek understands. Fighting, running, marking his territory, using the power of touch - Derek gets these things. But mental gymnastics have never been his strong suit and they know it. Unfortunately, Stiles knows it, too. With Scott comes Stiles and Derek wishes he could say he's truly annoyed by this, but the pair of them have become somewhat invaluable to him, to the pack, the territory (not that he would tell them this in so many words - Stiles would crow about it forever and Derek just doesn't have that kind of time).

Where Scott is all heart and fierce protection of those he loves, Stiles is cunning and distraction, long fingers constantly flying over the keys of his computer as he digs up the next tidbit of information that may or may not be true. Derek relies on Stiles too much sometimes.

He pays it back though, always makes sure he does.

It's Derek's turn to watch the Stilinski house tonight, warm summer air and the thick sounds of nighttime cicadas enveloping and stifling him in their too-tight embrace. They've taken turns guarding the humans - Lydia, Danny, Stiles. Just because Deucalion's specialty is mind fuckery doesn't mean that's his only source of intimidation. Plus, as Stiles is quick to point out, Derek is paranoid.

The Sheriff's on another double tonight, still recovering from the loss of eight deputies at Matt's (Jackson's) hand two months ago. He's been told things, but not all the things. Enough to know that there's more than just animal attacks going on, that Derek is someone to be trusted, and that eventually, he'll know it all. Derek is not looking forward to that conversation.

The shingles next to Stiles' bedroom window are peeling, probably need to be replaced, Derek thinks. He makes a mental note to tell Stiles next time they actually talk. He probably won't actually do it. Not like they actually talk anyway beyond the occasional sarcastic comment.

It's approaching midnight and Derek's debating running down to the gas station for something to drink when Stiles pokes his head out and almost brains himself on the window frame.

"Fucking fuck, dude, make a noise," he murmurs, rubbing the back of his skull gingerly.

Derek shrugs, not really sure how to respond to that. It's not like he'd wanted Stiles to know he was there. Not that he was hiding or anything; just being a non-entity. He's good at that.

A bottle of water comes flying at his head and Derek's grateful for his supernatural reflexes as he catches it, not so grateful for his claws as he accidentally rends it in two and dumps water all down his front.

Stiles sighs heavily and opens the window further. "Would you just get in here, jackass? I have a spare shirt that might actually fit you this time. Also it's hot as Hades out there and we have central air."

He ducks back in, leaving Derek two choices: ignore him and continue to sit in the stifling heat or go in and sit in stifling silence.

Derek's always been good with silence.

Stiles throws a shirt at him as soon as his feet hit the ground, turning back to his computer and completely ignoring Derek's presence.

"Thanks," Derek says quietly, tugging off his soiled shirt and pulling on the dry one. The shirt is snug, but not uncomfortably so - Stiles is just as broad as he is these days, if leaner through the arms and midsection.

"So you're babysitting tonight?" Stiles asks, not bothering to drag his attention away from his computer game (Diablo? Really? Derek can't help but thinking. Like they don't get enough of that shit in daily life).

He huffs a sigh and settles in the empty chair by the window. "Your shingles need replacing," he hedges. Stiles isn't one to give up, but neither is Derek. "And it's not babysitting-"

"'It's making sure they know where our loyalties lie, blah blah blah,'" Stiles interrupts, back stiffening into a straight line. "Yeah, Derek, I got it. Babysitting."

Derek doesn't even know how to respond to that, a hundred different replies flying through his head as he slouches against the peeling wood frame of Stiles' window.

"Just make sure you're gone by sunrise," Stiles murmurs. "Dad gets off at six and as much as I appreciate you being here to watch me sleep like a creeper, I don't think he'd find it as amusing."

Derek's lips twitch into an involuntary smirk. If only Stiles knew about the blackmail videos he had of Stiles (drunk, sleeping, high on Vicodin when he'd broken three ribs) on his phone. But that would probably only strengthen his creeper accusation. He says nothing, settles in for a long night, only the steady thrum of Stiles' heartbeat and careful, rhythmic tapping of his typing filling the silence.

\---

Two.

Derek wonders sometimes if his life is a blessing or a curse. It's been two years since the Alpha Pack left of their own volition, realizing they had no sway in Beacon Hills, that Derek had no interest in joining their super secret werewolf boy band (Derek sometimes hates that he hears that in Stiles' voice in his head). Two years since Cora came back and filled a hole in his heart he hadn't realized was still there.

There'd been surprisingly little bloodshed since. A band of harpies came and left, the faeries are a constant problem (though Derek suspects that's more because the Queen is infatuated with Isaac's curls and smart mouth than anything), but by and large, it's been quiet in their little hamlet.

Which is probably why his pack of newly-minted college students manage to drag him out to a quiet spot on the river deep in the Preserve three weeks before they split off for their various universities for the First Annual Hale Pack Camping Trip (to Derek's repeated protestations, which are therein repeatedly ignored by everyone). 

They're not going far - Isaac, Scott, and Cora are staying in Beacon Hills, sharing a small house with Derek and commuting the local university two towns over. Stiles and Allison have managed to find an apartment for themselves not far from Berkeley; Lydia already started at MIT in January, having graduated high school a semester early. Danny'll be joining her on the east coast in time for freshman orientation.

Part of Derek aches when he thinks of his pack going so far from him, even if Danny's the only wolf going any real distance away. His humans are still _his_ humans (though he's careful not to say that around Lydia for fear of having his genitals suddenly becoming internal organs). They're not a stable pack, not quite yet, but they're getting there.

The sun's hanging low in the morning sky when Derek finally reaches the campsite Scott and Cora picked out together.

"I brought stuff for s'mores," he says without introduction, dropping the bags of food and supplies on the makeshift table.

"Bless you, child," Stiles intones as he bounds up from the river, endless energy running through him. Deaton's been teaching him to channel his energy into something more useful - more magical, if the runes tattooed across his broad, naked shoulders are any indication. Derek forgets not to stare for a moment before hearing a quiet cough. Danny, Isaac, and the girls stand a few feet away, knowing smiles on their faces as Derek feels a blush rise in his cheeks, the tips of his ears heating up.

"Oh shut up," he murmurs, turning away and dropping his bags at the edge of the forest.

Stiles spins around, his mouth full to bursting, still managing to squeak out a barely audible "what'd I do?" between all the marshmallows.

Clapping a hand on his shoulder, Isaac's smile morphs into something more akin to a smirk. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Now help me gather firewood."

-

The heat of the dog days of summer forces them all into the river by mid-afternoon, splashing each other and making high pitched noises some of them will deny to their dying day (Scott). Derek's warm and content at the edge of the small beach. His toes rest against cool river rocks, worn smooth by years of flowing water. He realizes, not for the first time, how content he is with things. It still surprises him, though.

Cora trips Isaac in the shallow water only to get dragged down with him. They both pop up, shaking their heads like overgrown puppies and Derek can't stifle the smile and laugh at their expense.

He looks up as Stiles flops next to him on the warm sand, all gangly limbs and sunshine. Water beads across Stiles' shoulders and back, dripping from his too-long hair. He's become a man right before Derek's eyes. His whole pack (because that's what it is now - an actual pack, his family) has grown so much over the years, Derek aches with pride sometimes. (Though he will deny to his dying day that he cried at graduation last month. He didn't. You can't prove a thing, Scott.)

"So apparently we're bunking together and I must warn you, I'm a cuddler," Stiles announces, knocking his knee into Derek's.

"What, you don't want to snuggle up with Scott tonight?" Derek smirks.

Stiles shudders and shakes his head firmly. "First of all, Scott is a total pillow hog." Derek nods solemnly. "Secondly," Stiles barrels on. "I do not want to be anywhere near that weird threesome tonight."

"Jealous much?" Isaac yells from mid-stream, Allison perched on his shoulders in preparation for a game of chicken with Danny and Cora.

"I've seen what Scott's packing," Stiles shouts back, leaning back on his hands. "You can have him."

Scott's head pops up out of the water a few yards down. "Hey!"

"I'm sorry Scott," Stiles says, standing and brushing sand off his shorts. Derek tries valiantly not to watch. It's kind of a lost cause. "You are well-endowed and sexy. Were you not my brother I would take you in a manly fashion."

"Because I'm pretty?" Scott smiles.

Stiles winks over his shoulder at Derek as he wades back into the water. "Because you're pretty," he replies, tackling Scott into the flow.

-

Danny starts a fire as the sun dips low in the sky and they all gather round to roast marshmallows and hot dogs, sharing stories and jokes long into the night. By the time they all wander off to their tents (Lydia, Cora and Danny sharing the biggest, Stiles and Derek in the small popup, and the other three somewhere far enough away from camp for reasons Derek desperately does not want to examine), the air has turned comfortably cool.

Derek flops down on the nest of blankets in their tent, exhausted from the day, the sun, the sheer contentment with his life. True to his word, Stiles rolls over from atop his sleeping bag for snuggles. He's not entirely prepared for Stiles to octopus his limbs around him, but he's glad they both feel safe enough for this. It had taken awhile for Stiles and Lydia to get accustomed to the sheer amount of touching the wolves engaged in, but Derek sees it now, how easily it comes to them. A hand to someone's elbow, a quick brush of fingers across another's nape - it's natural now. They're _pack_ now.

Tucking Stiles under his arm and pulling him close, Derek's wolf rumbles with pleasure.

"Can't believe you ate 12 s'mores," Stiles mumbles, voice slurred with sleep. "Always knew you had a sweet tooth."

"Go to sleep, Stiles," Derek replies, chuckling quietly.

-

Derek wakes slowly, cozy and content, his morning wood pressing into something soft and warm. His eyes fly open when he realizes it's Stiles's leg his erection is violating. It's still dark out as Derek extricates himself from Stiles' hold and pulls on his running shorts.

He runs, willing away his erection with every footfall as he crests the top of the hill they're camping on. The sun rises over the valley, bathing the trees in sunlight, and Derek ignores the stirring of _feelings_ deep in his gut.

When he makes it back to the campground, the others are blearily stumbling around, sipping the coffee Allison made in her French press, and murmuring to each other. Stiles meets his eyes as he crosses into their site and flushes, glancing away. They don't talk about it.

\---

Three.

By the time most of the pack starts their junior year of college, the territory is as stable as Derek ever remembers it being. A small family of omegas, wolves Beatrice, Leon, and their human daughter, Violet, joined the pack a few years back, Bea taking over as Derek's second in command. Violet loves spending time with her Uncle Derek, climbing all over him and demanding tea parties he readily gives.

Derek's glad his work as a consultant means he can stay home more often than not, puttering around the house he and Leon built not long after they moved to Beacon Hills. The home is a sprawling three story, not unlike his family home a few miles away. All the pack members have their own rooms, plus two kitchens, a giant dining room, and a living room with a sunken cushioned floor for pack snuggles. Derek and Bea share an office at the back, next to the bright kitchen. They can hear Vi playing outside as they work on their consulting projects - mostly construction and plumbing, but a bit of electrical, now that Leon's finished his apprenticeship.

Three weeks into September, the fairies are back and this time they want Vi for their coven as the human daughter of two born werewolves. Bea is understandably freaking out, only letting pack near the house, her eyes flashing gold whenever the Sheriff stops by to offer his protection. Derek politely declines and assigns Scott, Cora, and Isaac to stay behind to keep watch over the house. It's a stressful few days.

The bestiary they have is thorough, but still somewhat incomplete - particularly the bit about fairies. Digging around the library through the few books he'd managed to salvage from his family's library, and the ones Bea and Leon brought with them, Derek finds a few pages in Aramaic that may prove promising. Unfortunately, his Aramaic is a bit rusty. Fortunately, he knows someone with near-fluent proficiency.

By the time Derek arrives at Stiles and Allison's tiny apartment in Berkeley, he's more exhausted than he's been since the Alpha pack.

"Dude," Stiles greets as he swings the door open. "You look like shit."

"Charming as ever, Stiles," Derek replies, stepping into the apartment carefully.

It's late, well past midnight, but Stiles is practically vibrating with energy only a 21 year old would have.

"Yes, well, my tact is why all the ladies love me," he replies, bending over to pick up a sheaf of papers. Derek averts his eyes, ever grateful Stiles never wanted the bite.

Derek scents the air delicately and smirks. "Clearly," he replies, flopping into a cushy-looking armchair that did not disappoint. The apartment smells of Allison's sweet vanilla and burnt sugar scent, the sharp tang of electricity that accompanies Stiles' magic. No other human or wolf has been here, that Derek can tell. It occurs to Derek a moment too late that there's something off about that. "Are you still dating that guy? Gary or Greg or something?"

Stiles turns, a frown marring his usually open face. "Jerry? We broke up like four months ago. Keep up, boss." Derek hums noncommittally, lets his eyes close for a moment as he slouches against the chair cushions.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he mumbles. He's been fighting sleep for hours - stress is a powerful motivator - and it's finally starting to catch up to him in this warm, safe space.

Derek feels a blanket draped across his lap, cracks one eye open to find Stiles smiling down at him softly. "Priorities," he replies. Slipping the pages from Derek's fingers, Stiles pats him on the arm. "Take a nap. I'll translate these and wake you in a few hours."

True to his word, Stiles rouses him some time later with a gentle hand on one shoulder and a mug of coffee with plenty of sugar and the hazelnut creamer Derek knows they both favor. The pages prove fruitful, a simple incantation and blood sacrifice from Stiles (he produces a vial from somewhere Derek doesn't want to examine too closely), and the fairies will be out of their hair forever. Derek's anxious to get back to his home, wary of leaving the territory without its alpha for too long.

Stiles presses a travel mug of coffee into Derek's hand as he leaves, the sun just peeking over the horizon, bathing the sky in pinks and oranges.

"Come back sometime when someone's not in mortal danger," he says with a smile, as he throws his free arm around Derek's shoulders in a tight hug. Derek can hear the implication in his words - _come see me just because._

Derek squeezes him back, hanging on a second too long before pulling back and nodding. "Thanks for the coffee. And the pages. And...."

"Yeah yeah, I know." And it's back - that soft look in Stiles eyes Derek doesn't know how to decode - is afraid to decode. He turns away before he can say something stupid ( _come back with me, run with me, be mine_ ) and heads home to prepare for battle once again.

\---

Four.

He's sure he told them not to, but shockingly, Stiles and Scott didn't listen and laced Derek's drinks with that wolfsbane strand Miles, Stiles' freshman year roommate (and member of the Albany pack) introduced them to. He's feeling just loose enough to giggle audibly at the Miles-Stiles roommate matchup once again.

After two and a half painfully long years, Stiles' thesis was finally accepted that afternoon. _Supernatural Genetics Throughout History and Their Modern Day Implications_ , a 176 page monolith had become Stiles' baby over the last few years, and had earned his utter disdain in recent months. They'd all breathed a sigh of relief when it was over - Stiles wasn't exactly calm at the best of times, but thesis-related-stressed!Stiles was the worst they'd encountered (so far).

There are more people at the bar than Derek can name, a fact that would normally make him hide in the corner, but this is Stiles' night and Derek finds he's actually enjoying himself. The sheriff rented out the place for the night for Stiles' reveling and still they'd managed to pack the place.

Derek blames the combination of wolfsbane vodka and his own social anxiety for the way he's currently tearing it up on the dance floor, arms in front of him as he sways to the music. Someone presses up against his back and he freezes for half a second before relaxing as the warm honey scent of Stiles settles around him. He turns, raising his arms above his head as he shakes his hips side to side and grins at his new dance partner, proud as a mother hen.

"You're a master now, Stilinksi!" he shouts over the music, leaning in slightly to be heard. (And not at all to breathe Stiles' scent in deep - nearly as intoxicating as the vodka itself.)

"I always have been, Hale," Stiles shouts back, resting one hand on Derek's hip and taking a deep draw from his beer. He's moving in time to the music and Derek's own pitiful attempts at dancing and Derek finds himself entranced. Stiles' movements are fluid and graceful, something he'd never have expected from the flailing 16 year old in the woods.

Derek can feel the moment slipping away, knows he should say something here - something witty and cute, this could be his moment, but the vodka is clouding his brain in a pleasant sort of fuzz. He let's the moment pass and takes half a step closer, resting one hand on Stiles' shoulder and taking a swig of his own drink. They move in tandem for a few moments before the song changes to something slower, smoother.

He's so proud of Stiles, he could burst. Stiles' face lights up and Derek realizes he may have said that last bit out loud.

"You did," Stiles says, leaning in to speak, despite both of them knowing it's not necessary. The proximity is making Derek's head spin and he needs to get out of here.

He pulls away abruptly, trying to ignore the hurt in Stiles' eyes, and throws one thumb over his shoulder, mumbling something about heading outside.

Late April in San Francisco is beautiful, the cool breeze from the bay stretching across the whole city, twining around him as Derek leans against the scratchy red exterior brick. His brain is muddled with things he wants desperately to say, but knows he shouldn't. He's the alpha - he can't abuse his status with one of the members of his pack. He can't upset the careful balance they have now. Things are finally settling and Stiles will be the last member to come home. Derek resolves to be strong. Whatever feelings he has for Stiles can't outweigh his duties to the pack. Stiles would understand, right? If he ever has to find out, that is.

His resolve lasts for another thirty seconds, which is honestly longer than he probably thought it would. Stiles comes stumbling out of the side door, eyes bright and round, and spots him leaning against the wall down the way. Derek's never felt like anything other than a predator, but as Stiles approaches him, all sleek, lean lines and powerful shoulders, he's starting to understand being prey. He's starting to understand being prey that _wants_ to get caught.

Stiles stops before him and they stare for a few moments. The streetlight glints off Stiles' glasses, his eyes shining a brilliant gold for a moment, and Derek's overcome with need. He needs this man, he needs what they could be.

He barely breathes a quiet "Stiles" before they're kissing, hot and hard. Derek had always imagined Stiles to be not a timid lover, but not aggressive. He should have learned long ago to stop underestimating him.

They somehow wind up back at the little one-bedroom Stiles had moved in to after Allison came back to Beacon Hills following her own degree. Stiles presses Derek against the door, a laughable imitation of a night at their very beginning, and bites into Derek's neck, nibbling along the tendons as Derek's head makes contact with the wood behind him.

"We should," he heaves a breath, trying to control his wolf, clenching and unclenching his fingers around Stiles' waist and shoulders. "We should slow down."

"No," Stiles replies breathily. "We've been slow for eight goddamn years, Derek. I want to be fast." He pulls back and levels Derek with a look that would damn near scorch off his underpants if it could. "I want fast and then slow. And then fast again," he says, a smirk tugging at his cherubic smile.

Derek struggles to breathe, pulling deep breaths into his lungs as his hands migrate south on their own. "Fast? I'll give you fast."

The chuckle Stiles lets out turns to a choked gasping moan as Derek's hand slips past his undone fly and into his boxers, wrapping around his cock and pulling sharply. He twists at the head, pops a claw out to draw down the vein on the underside of Stiles' dick and suddenly he's coming, hard and fast, just as he wanted. Derek's jeans are getting painfully tight, but he ignores them for the moment as Stiles slumps against his shoulder, breathing heavily. He pulls his hand from Stiles' pants and sucks his fingers into his mouth, enjoying the mix of Stiles' flavor and his own underneath.

"Fuck," Stiles breathes, a small laugh escaping. He scrabbles at Derek's pant front, goes back to biting at Derek's neck. "I didn't mean quite that fast, but I'm not even mad."

Derek's coming before Stiles can even finish the sentence; the warm, calloused fingers wrapped around his dick have been the subject of many a late night jerk off session. It only takes two tugs before he's spilling into his own briefs and all over Stiles' hand. "Fuck indeed," he whispers, pulling another harsh chuckle from Stiles.

"In a bit," he replies, lifting his own hand and, imitating Derek, sucking two fingers into his own mouth. Derek's heart catches in his chest as their scents mingle between them. They smell as if they belong to each other and Derek can't be bothered to worry about the implications. He merely pulls Stiles' hand from his mouth and leans in to steal a kiss from those sinful lips.

-

Derek wakes with a start in an unfamiliar room, panic constricting his chest for a moment before the scent settles over him - sex and Stiles and warmth and _home_ floods his senses, relaxing his every muscle as he looks down at his bed partner. They'd gone slow, alright, with Derek spending nearly half an hour rimming Stiles until he was shaking, his long, thick cock leaving a sticky trail of precome on the sheets. When he'd finally pushed into Stiles' tight heat, Derek almost lost it, digging his claws into his own thigh to keep from coming like a virgin on his first fuck. He took his time, taking Stiles apart and putting him back together, leaving him wordless as he jerked and panted and took everything Derek gave.

They'd cuddled after, curled into each other under the blankets. Derek's heart was fit to bursting as he looked into Stiles' eyes, silently hoping he'd get to keep this.

The clock on Stiles' night table clicks over to 4 a.m. and Derek lies back down, just looking like the creeper Stiles so frequently reminds him he is. Worry starts to creep in, bringing doubt and uncertainty with it. What if this was just a one off for Stiles? He'd not been in a relationship in years, since just after Gary-Greg-whatever. What if things were different now? He'd certainly seemed into it a few hours ago, but they'd both been drinking. Derek's heart sinks at the thought - he hadn't given much thought to how much Stiles had had last night. He was feeling loose and comfortable enough to drop his guard, but had he accidentally taken advantage of Stiles? And if he did, how badly would that fuck up their relationship?

Derek allowed himself ten more seconds of panic before sliding out of the bed silently and tugging on his clothes. He's loved Stiles for longer than he's not and the fear that he'd fucked up his chances push him to slip out the door, letting it click quietly closed behind him.

-

It's no surprise when he gets a text later from Stiles asking him to meet for coffee, his tone light and noncommittal. Derek almost ignores it, but he's never been able to deny Stiles anything.

They're sitting across from each other in the most uncomfortable morning after situation Derek thinks he's ever experienced. Stiles is clearly trying for nonchalance, but landing somewhere in miserable and exhausted. Derek's pretty sure his own face is somewhere in the "constipated and lonely" area.

"About last night-" he starts, Stiles cutting him off with the wave of a hand.

"Look," he says, not meeting Derek's eye. Stiles' gaze lands everywhere but Derek, casting about for something to focus on and Derek feels adrift. "I know you think last night was a mistake and I'm not surprised." A small noise escapes Derek and Stiles waves his hand again, smiling sadly down at the table. "I know you think it was a mistake and I just want you to know that I don't."

"You don't?" Derek asks, eyes wide and barely able to breathe.

"No. I think it was the best sex I've ever had and I wouldn't change anything about it for the world."

Derek looks down, searches for answers in his frappucino (extra whip, caramel drizzle - he should have known when Stiles always gets his favorites right). "You're the best mistake I've ever made," he breathes. It's not romantic or even polite, but he hopes Stiles gets it.

Never one to disappoint, Stiles reaches across the small table to twine their fingers together and smiles, small and hopeful. "You too."

\---

Five.

Derek has learned the hard way that time crawls when you're miserable and alone, but it flies when you're blissfully happy. All those years he'd isolated himself seemed to drag on for an eternity, but as he putters around his bedroom at 3 in the morning, tossing things last minute clothes into his suitcase, Derek realizes how quickly time is passing.

Stiles is starfished out in the middle of the bed, taking up both sides as soon as Derek had vacated it. It's like he instinctively needs to take up as much space as he can. Derek's learned to love it, the way Stiles' hands fly as he talks animatedly about his lesson plans for the coming year, his excitement and thinly veiled fear over his second year as a teacher at the elementary school (last year was 1st grade, this year is 4th - he's terrified of 9 year olds).

They've been together just over a year and Derek feels like it's been five minutes. Stiles moved home after graduating from Berkeley with his masters, promptly got a job at the elementary school, and rented his own hole-in-the-wall apartment in historic downtown Beacon Hills. Though these days he's spending more time in Derek's bed than his own, a fact Derek is not at all mad about, and one he plans on bringing up when he gets home from the conference in four days.

Early summer in northern California is always a bit chillier than he expects, despite growing up there, but he stares at the woolen socks in his hands, trying to remember how chilly New York gets this time of year. It's not late enough to be unbearably humid yet, he doesn't think.

He hears Stiles stirring and finishes shoving things in his suitcase, zipping it closed quickly and setting it just outside the bedroom door. Derek leans over to drop a kiss on Stiles' cheek, rousing him just enough to tell him he's going.

"Mmm, can't leave," Stiles mumbles, stretching his long limbs enticingly before curling back in on himself. "Cold."

Derek chuckles and tugs the blanket up from where they'd kicked it to the foot of the bed in the night. "I'm sorry, but New York calls," he says, tucking the duvet around Stiles' broad shoulders.

Stiles' eyes flutter in half-sleep and he smiles. "Right, WolfCon."

Derek sighs, fighting away the fond smile. Ever since he'd told him about the North American Wolf Conference two years ago, Stiles had dubbed it WolfCon and wouldn't hear any arguments to the contrary.

"It's not-"

"Whatever," Stiles replies, blinking sleepily up at him. "Go, have fun. Make friends. Don't forget about little ole me."

"I could never forget you," Derek says, a laugh escaping him quietly. He leans in for a quick brush of their lips, something to sate him for the trip. "Love you," he mumbles into the kiss.

His eyes fly open. It's the first time they've said it in so many words, but Stiles has to know. He has to know that Derek is madly in love with him and has been for years.

"What?" Stiles asks, sitting up and looking far more alert than he did thirty seconds ago.

Derek steps back, eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest, but he's not afraid. He's exhilarated and terrified and overjoyed. He laughs, the sound lighter than he thought he could produce, happy and free. "I love you," he repeats forcefully. "I love you and I'm going to New York and when I get back, you're moving in because I'm tired of having to rescue you clean underwear every third day."

Stiles sits there, mouth agape, shellshocked by the confession. Derek's not exactly verbose on the best of days, plays his cards close to his chest, but this. This is important and needs to be said. "I love you," he says again, as if making sure it's etched onto Stiles' brain, his heart. He leans in for another kiss, then heads out the door, grabbing his suitcase as he goes.

He's almost out the front door, chuckling when Stiles' "I LOVE YOU TOO!" reaches him, echoing through the house.

\---

Plus One.

Derek wakes up alone, which given their current situation, isn't surprising, but is never preferable. He can hear his heartbeat, the hummingbird fastness of it having evened out as Stiles has aged into adulthood. He's in his late 20's now, the scent of anxiety and Adderall having long left his system. Now he just smells of burnt sugar and home.

Derek pads down the hallway, following the sound of Stiles' heartbeat, close to the most precious sound on the planet. The nursery is just two doors down, a bright, cozy place they'd dedicated just for _her_. Stiles is curled up in the old rocking chair they inherited from the Sheriff, cradling Moira to his chest, singing sweet, nonsensical noises as she snuffles in her sleep. 

She's barely two months old, abandoned by her omega mother in the woods near the old Hale house. Violet practically vibrated out of her skin with excitement at a new wolf cousin, even if she wasn't big enough to be fun yet. Moira's made it her mission to wrap the whole pack around her chubby little fist and has succeeded quite thoroughly. Boyd in particular is helpless to her bright blue eyes and Derek fears the number of toys and favors Moira's Uncle Boyd is going to be heaping upon them in a few years.

"Hey," he says, stepping in to the room and sweeping a hand across Moira's tiny back, settling her with his scent, and leaning in to kiss Stiles. "Everything okay?"

Stiles smiles sleepily back. "She was fussing a little. Thought I'd let you get some sleep for once, Papa." His eyes twinkle with mirth and Derek can relate. 

Being a father wasn't something he ever thought he'd get to have, once upon a time. Stiles has made every single aspect of his life better - possible, even. There's no way he'd be able to raise this baby without Stiles by his side - their matching silver rings linking them in law, their matching open hearts linking them in life.

Derek leans in for another kiss, dropping on on Moira's crown along the way. "Come back to bed, Daddy."

Stiles' nose wrinkles. "That was not nearly as hot as I thought it would be," he says, standing and tucking their daughter back in her crib.

They chuckle and head back to their room, curling up under the blankets together for a few more hours of rest.

It's not easy and it's not perfect, but as the sun peeks through the heavy green curtains of their bedroom, bathing Stiles in early morning golden light, he realizes this is Derek's everything, what he's been waiting his whole life for, and _that_ is perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [tumblr!](http://jeely.tumblr.com) :D


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